Enlightened (Love and Light Series)

by Melissa Lummis

  We never told you because that might have been construed as a betrayal, and magic is such a tricky thing. There are pitfalls to magical contracts and oaths—and there is no being careful. You find yourself hurting the ones you love. There seem to be loopholes that you can slip through to freedom, but they are really nooses that snap to when you are just deep enough. Make the wrong move, just by a little, and we could have killed you. We kept quiet and years went by, and we didn't hear from Modore. We almost believed it was done. Almost.

  It wasn't until after you and Joe married and your children were born that Modore reappeared. He called in his favor. You remember the trip, don't you? Joe and I went overseas, and you badgered us for answers. You were suspicious, but we told you we were working with the DOD through the university's contract. Warlocks were in need. It was easy, but you knew something was wrong. So did Wolf.

  I won’t burden you with the details of what we did, but it was in the act of performing Modore’s dirty work that Joe died. You were so angry with me for letting him die, and I couldn’t argue with you. Joe was mortally wounded, and I wanted to take him to a healer, but he said no. “Let me die, Patrick,” he said to me. And I understood. He wanted to be released from his oath, to not have to do another horrible thing for Modore. We knew, if there was a hell, we were going, but even knowing that, death would be such a relief.

  Joe died in my arms, and I cried for my friend, not just because I was sad that he died or that I would miss him every day of my life, but because it was over for him. Sweet release. He was at peace. And I cried for myself because I wished I could have died with him. You were right, when I returned without him, that I was suicidal, but I couldn't even risk that. What if killing myself would betray my oath? Would the magic kill you? I couldn't risk your life. I knew you hated me back then because I was alive and Joe wasn't. Believe me, if I could have died in his place that day, I would have.

  Why does magic work that way? I struggled with that question my entire sorry excuse for a life, but never came up with a good answer. The only conclusion I ever came to was that it just is. I don't understand the price the Divine exacts, or why we have to pay with our hearts. Maybe it is just the price of love and light and life, that we hurt in some way to remind us that what we have, even the smallest of comforts, is good.

  I tried not to love you, Katie, thinking I could break the oath that way. If I didn’t love you, love anyone, then the oath would have no binding, but the more I tried not to love, the deeper in love with you I fell. I used to think my first mistake in this whole tale was when I chose to fall in love with you, but I'm not sure that was a choice. That deal was sealed the day I met you.

  I tried to balance my karma, giving whatever I could, doing whatever I could for the least of these, but I knew it was impossible. You asked me once how I could look at the dirtiest bum on the street with such understanding and compassion, and do you remember my answer? If you do, then you know that the most selfless thing I ever did, the best thing I ever did, was letting Joe die that day.

  Maybe we were selfish wanting to bring you back. Maybe it would have been better to leave you there, knowing what I know now, having performed some of the most heinous acts I could imagine. Maybe we should have taken the chance we would have figured it out on our own. I’ve had these thoughts every day of my life, but as it was, just two days in our reality had been three months where you were.

  You never told me what happened in Purgatory—maybe you told Joe, but he never betrayed your trust. Would you have been able to find your way back? You’re good at that, and maybe you would have. After you were safely back, I tried to recreate the spell Modore showed us, but I was never able to open that door again. I never knew how we did it until Loti came along.

  I think maybe she and Wolf will discover that door, and many other things we all thought were fairytales—isn't it ironic that we would disbelieve anything when we live in a world full of magic? Maybe we need to reexamine all those old legends. We've all accepted some very fundamental lies about ourselves, but I think those two will help us all see the truth about ourselves and our world.

  I hope with all my heart they find their way, and in so doing, lead the way.

  I always loved you, Katie. I did some things that I am ashamed of, but I did learn that love was never a mistake. It was my lack of trust that defined me. I didn't trust myself or Joe or Bill Wesley or Wolf, and I didn't trust you. And for that, I am truly sorry. I paid for it with my life. Maybe now I am at peace, wherever I am. I do know that in this moment, as I write these words, I have reclaimed a tiny bit of hope. I have that small thing stuck under the lid of my existence, and I am grateful.

  Please share my story, Katie. Maybe, my life can be the bridge to span the chasm I fell into, so that the next fair-haired youth whose feet must pass this way won't share my fate.

  All my love,

  Your Patrick

  Nanny jumped from the chair and raced to Patrick's bookshelf. She yanked book after book off the shelf, staring at their spines, throwing them across the room.

  "Nanny? What are you doing?" Rachel followed her into the living room.

  "I need to find—it’s got to be here." She glanced over at Rachel and Loti. "Help me."

  Rachel put her hands on Nan’s shoulders. “Tell me what we’re looking for?”

  "A poem by Dromgoole."

  "The Bridge Builder?" Loti asked.

  Nanny stopped cold. "Yes. How'd you know?"

  “That was Patrick's favorite. He gave all us grandkids a copy of it." Rachel sprinted to the kitchen and ran back in with a picture frame.

  “Here. It was hung over the table. Here.”

  Katie grabbed it out of her hand, eyes scanning the glass and she clutched to her chest.

  "Oh dear Goddess,” she sobbed the sobs of the lost souls. "He gave me a copy of this poem with my birthday present every year."

  Loti and Rachel stared at her as she fell to her knees and they knelt down beside her, putting their arms around her convulsing shoulders. When her sobs quieted, they glanced up at each other, tears running down their faces.

  “Can I ask you something, Nan?” Rachel asked.

  Katie nodded, eyes closed, still clutching the picture frame.

  “What was Patrick’s answer? To your question about the bum on the street?”

  Katie took a deep, tremulous breath, her eyes glazing over as she said, “His soul is no more wretched and lost than mine. We both long for the same redemption.”

  Loti woke to bright sunlight. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed. Chic-a-dees hopped on the ground under the copper bird feeder, pecking at the scattered seed shells. I need to refill that. The beginnings of flower buds decorated the bare branches of the dogwood tree the feeder hung from. It arched gracefully over the gravel walkway that led from the side of her front porch to the circular driveway.

  “Pull the curtain, will you?” Wolf grumbled, rolling over. She smiled at his bare back and did as he asked. “It still burns some.” He rubbed his neck.

  “Go back to sleep.” She laughed as she curled around him, kissing his shoulder. He patted around behind him, grabbed her ass and yanked her up against him. She tucked the covers up around their necks and snuggled in. Lavender. She smelled lavender on the sheets and on Wolf’s hair. She closed her eyes.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  The next time she awoke the room was dim, and they had switched positions. Wolf spooned against her back, and she faced the window, a deep orange seeping around the curtains. She moved the drapes a few inches aside to see the black trees stark against the setting sun.

  “Come back,” Wolf murmured, pulling her into his arms.

  She turned around and kissed him softly on the mouth. His hand tangled in her brown hair. She surrendered to him, and let him do everything he wanted. When she lay in the nook of his arm, winded and sated, his chin resting on her head the phone rang. He reached over, careful not to disturb her and picked up the receiver.


  “Yeah?” He listened.

  Loti arched her neck to see his face.

  His eyes narrowed in concern and sadness flooded her chest and throat. “We’ll be there.” He held the receiver away from his face and pressed the end call button, dropping it to the bed. “We have to go to Dayalananda.” Wolf adjusted so Loti could turn on her side, her face resting on his chest. “He’s taking mahasamadhi.”

  “Gurudev?” Her voice quavered with Wolf’s sadness, not her own, because although she was sad to know the ashram’s heart would be leaving them, she’d only met him face to face a few times. Her heart picked up its pace, and she sat up, leaning on her hands, studying the ingrained stillness of Wolf’s face. He had centuries to practice that mask, centuries to settle into its hardness, but she felt the anguish he hid so well. He knew she felt it and that’s where the bit of irritation came from. What good had it been to work so hard at controlling himself now?

  “You love him,” she said in a gentle, reverent voice. “Tell me.”

  He turned his eyes to hers and nodded, pulling her down to him, holding onto her. She cradled his body with hers, slipping her thigh over his, sliding her hand over his stomach in little, soothing circles until he covered it with his own.

  “Calisto and I met him in Rishikesh—you’ve been there?”

  Loti nodded, her eyes closed as the memories flooded both their minds, the excitement of a new adventure after some very difficult times. It wasn’t like they knew every little detail about each other’s lives. The bond wasn’t like that, now. During those first three transformational days, yes, they had been unable to pick and choose, and it nearly drove them both insane. Now, they could know each other’s thoughts and feelings, even memories if they chose, but they could also choose not to share. The night they saved Buddy’s life, they had merged, but it had been a complete understanding in that particular moment—yes, they had become one, but in the now. They knew the persona they were, the personality that they had each crafted out of the raw materials of experience, and they had touched their Higher Self.

  What frightened them that night was the realization that the Higher Self was wordless, timeless, and no different. Somehow, it was both unique to each of them, like each jewel cut from raw gems was unique with its own flaws and angles, but the raw stuff was the same chemical makeup.

  “He was a practicing sadhu at the time, and we were drawn to him like moths to a flame. His energy, kind of like yours, was a beacon, and it called to us.” He laughed a quiet, subdued laugh. “He was funny as hell, didn’t take himself as seriously as the other ash covered renunciants. He lived across the river in one of the cottages between the Ramjhula and Lakshmanjhula bridges, and his guru had passed several months before.”

  Wolf quietly told the story of how they met, the realizations they had together about dharma for all beings, not just humans, and the decision to start their own sacred space in the States. Unfortunately, at the time, emigration from India to the United States was limited by quotas and the fact that it was still under British rule.

  “Calisto, Margarite, and I searched for a suitable place to build the ashram while Dayal recruited others to join us in the new world.”

  “Margarite?” Loti interrupted, but she already knew the answer to her own question. Margarite was much, much older than she appeared. “How old is she?”

  “I think she is over 300 years old, but you figured that out, didn’t you?” He shifted his head to look down at her.

  She arched her neck to look up, but didn’t sit up. “I figured out she’d at least been the same since the 1970s, but I had no idea she was that old.” She settled herself back down and Wolf stroked her shoulder.

  “She was born some time during the rule of Louis XIV, but I’m not sure when she and Calisto met.”

  “That’s a benefit of the bond? The not aging?”

  “Yes, I was never sure how it worked until . . . ”

  He didn’t need to finish his sentence, she knew what he meant. When Wolf had broken through the spell, she was able to drink life force straight from him.

  “By the 1960s the immigration quota had been lifted and we were finally able to get everyone safe passage, and since then we have been looking for you.” He kissed her hair.

  “I wasn’t even born.” She smiled.

  “Maybe not into this cycle, but you were out there.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  Dayalananda sat propped up on his meditation pallet, a blissful smile on his face as Wolf and Loti entered his home. Calisto took Loti’s hands in his, raising them to his face and kissing her knuckles. Margarite, Guided, and the guru’s closest sannyasin dressed in orange garb sat around the room. Wrapped in a white blanket, Dayalananda’s hands fluttered eagerly for them to approach.

  “Wolf, my friend. So good to see you.” He didn’t sound the least bit sick or weak.

  “Dayal.” Wolf hugged him, kissed both his cheeks. Dayal patted his arms. “You have been my good friend, and I thank you for bringing this light into our lives.” His wide hand reached out and gripped Loti’s arm, pulling her close. His long beard and mustache tickled as he smacked wet kisses on her face and mouth.

  “Good girl.” He grinned, squeezing her arms, his nose just inches from her face. “You trusted yourself, didn’t you?”

  Loti blinked in surprise. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He smiled and nodded, his moist eyes bright. “Easier to do, once you know who you are, hmm?” His head tilted, and Loti burst out laughing. His mischievous smile spread to his laughing eyes. The monks murmured and chuckled, but Dayalananda flapped a hand at them. “Shhh.” He winked at Loti.

  “You must watch this with your special eyes.” He patted her arms repeatedly. “Maybe you will let our friend Wolf see too, heh?”

  She couldn’t stop the giggles. Loti winked at him as Wolf sat down on the edge of the padded palette, rubbing her back.

  “We’ve seen a lot together, haven’t we?” Wolf contemplated the sash of flowers around Dayalananda’s neck. White and pink flower petals were scattered around the palette and in his lap. Red talik was smeared on his forehead, yellow and white ash around his forehead and beard.

  “You know what my favorite day with you was, Wolf?” Dayalananda held Loti’s hands, but looked at Wolf. Wolf smiled before he looked up.

  “What?” But he already knew.

  “August 15, 1969. The day I said the opening prayer.” They grinned at each other.

  “Good music.” And they laughed the way old friends do. Calisto joined in, sitting down on the other side, a sad smile on his face.

  “I don’t want to lose you, my friend.” Calisto sighed.

  “Ah, Calisto.” He patted his hand and picked up a handkerchief from his lap. “See this hanky?” He held it up by two corners so it sagged into a triangle. “Hmm, see the hanky? Nothing else, yes?” Calisto grinned as Dayalananda tied two of the corners in a knot. “Now what it is?”

  “It’s a hanky with a knot,” Calisto said.

  “Yes, now.” And he untied the knot. “What is it?”

  “A hanky without a knot.”

  “Just a hanky, yes?’ He tied the knot again. “Knot.” And held it up. “Now, watch carefully and tell me in which direction the knot goes.”

  He slid the knot apart and held the hanky up. “Where did the knot go?” And he chuckled. “Hmm, and where from it came?” He held the hanky up for a long moment, smiling kindly at Calisto. “Huh?” He lowered the hanky and began tying it again. That is death and life. Knot was born.” He finished the knot and started untying it. “And then knot was dead. But before the knot, hanky was.” He laughed and Calisto and everyone in the room laughed with him. “And after the knot, hanky is.” Holding the untied hanky aloft, he chuckled, smiling his great love around the room.

  Loti laid a hand on her throat. Was it sadness veiled with happiness she felt? Or the other way around?

  “That is the secret of death, Calisto. We don’t real
ly lose anything.” He blew his nose with a honk into the hanky and balled it up in his lap. He patted Loti’s cheek. “Now, you watch, hmm?”

  She nodded as Wolf took her hand and lowered her down next to him. Margarite and Guided took their turns exchanging hugs and words with Gurudev. He sank deeper into the cushions and turned his eyes to a wrinkled woman in one of the chairs. She stood up, her long braid hanging down the back of her orange kurta. She handed out shawls to everyone and with deliberate movements, wrapped one around her head and shoulders. Loti and the others did the same. She stood with a humble bow of the head by Sri Swami Dayalananda, eyes closed and hands pressed together in prayer, Namaste hands.

  In a shrill, high voice she broke the stillness, singing the mantra, “Om mani Padme hum”, drawing it long and sweet. She repeated it several times, and then a deeper, male voice joined her. One by one, everyone added their voices to the mantra. Loti always had trouble understanding what it meant. A monk once told her it had no simple translation, that all the teachings of the Buddha were summed up in its six syllables, but the best anyone had come up with was, “the jewel is in the lotus or praise to the jewel in the lotus.” But that didn’t matter. It was the saying of it, the singing of the sounds that was important.

  As they sang she thought of all the suffering they had been through, that her new friends had endured and her husband. The sadness didn’t choke her anymore. She glanced at Wolf who slipped an arm around her. What was the cause of all their suffering? Was it Modore? Was it Patrick? And was there ever a way to avoid it? She had no simple answers.

  What she had was a deep and abiding love for them all—for Wolf, yes, but for Calisto and Margarite and even Fiamette. Maybe that’s the answer: compassion. What else was there to ease or even end suffering but kindness, random and purposeful acts to bring light into everyone’s life? There was quite enough hate and greed and anger in the world, she was sure. The least she could do was release some love into the fray, a peace offering, a floating, flickering emissary of hope on a sea of suffering.